What wretched errors
by Leahna
Summary: When Roxton learns Marguerites secret, can their love survive?


From the early evening shadows, Lord John Roxton watched as Marguerite Krux fussed over the stove. She was trying valiantly to make dinner. Most of her meals were barely edible; she couldn't but improve. With the back of her hand, she pushed her long, curly dark hair back off her brow. She lifted the hot lid, burning her fingers. She let go quickly and the lid clattered to the floor. She grabbed a towel and bent to retrieve the errant hunk of metal. As she straightened, she espied the handsome hunter leaning against the wall across the room.  
  
"You could lend a hand," she complained.  
  
"I was too busy enjoying the view," he replied with a leering smile.  
  
She couldn't help and answering smile as she said coyly, "the view is better from over here."  
  
He sauntered over to the heiress, and took the lid from her hand. "Yes, I see," his greenish-brown eyes started at her toes and slowly travelled up her body, not missing an inch. His look was so bold, that she could feel the hot touch which lingered on her full breasts before stopping at her grey-blue eyes. "much better view over here." One arm encircled her trim waist pulling her close, while his other hand lost itself in her raven locks. She clasped her hands behind his neck and held her breath as his lips descended to hers. The heiress had expected more banter, but was pleased with the silent conversation of his tongue as it lightly traced her lips before his mouth claimed hers completely. She moulded her body against his as his hand travelled from her waist to cup her breast; his thumb rubbed lightly, yet insistently across it's hardening nub. She sighed and allowed her fingers to push under his collar.  
  
"Not to interrupt, . . . ." at Professor George Challenger's voice, the two broke apart immediately. The professor cleared his throat to cover his embarrassment and continued, "but is that our dinner going up in smoke?"  
  
"Oh, no!!" Marguerite exclaimed, and quickly pulled the scorched raptor stew off the stove. She threw the towel she'd used as a hot pad on the floor in frustration. "I can't believe this! I tried so hard."  
  
"It'll be fine," Roxton assured her.  
  
"I am sure that it is not ruined," Challenger offered. Thinking of her prior efforts, he couldn't see how a little scorching could possibly hurt what she tried to pass off as food.  
  
"Serve you right if it is ruined," the beautiful explorer whispered to her handsome hunter. "And you had better eat it."  
  
He handed the lopsided bread to her, "take this while I dish up the stew." Roxton needed a little more time, and a bit more space between them so that he could get control, before abandoning his concealing spot behind the table. Not to mention that he wasn't overly eager to taste Marguerite's stew.  
  
*****  
  
Dinner wasn't quite the disaster everyone had expected. The bread hadn't properly risen, so it was chewy and the crust was hard, but it wasn't completely awful. The stew, though not great, and decidedly burnt, was her best effort yet. And so far, no one had gotten sick.  
  
Roxton had remained uncharacteristically quiet throughout dinner and cleanup, surreptitiously watching Marguerite all the while. When Challenger headed to his lab to "finish off a few things before bed," the tall hunter took his lady's hand and led her out onto the balcony, out of sight from the main room of the treehouse. He didn't intend to be interrupted this time. She leaned back against the railing. He stood in front of her, content for the moment just to gaze on her lovely face. Now that the time had come, he wasn't sure what to say.  
  
"Had you a purpose in bringing me out here, or did you just want to enjoy the moonlight?" Marguerite teased.  
  
The English lord felt as unsure as a school boy facing his first crush. What he was sure of, was his love for this beautiful, enigmatic woman. He cupped her face in his hands, and remained mute.  
  
"John?" she was smiling, but her eyes were shadowed with confusion.  
  
He sighed and turned his gaze to the jungle. "When Veronica went missing, I realised just how insure our life is here on the plateau. Then, when Malone left, . . . ."  
  
She placed her hand on his forearm, "There are still three of us," She assured him, then, leaning close, her lips nearly brushing his cheek, she added quietly, "and I'm not going anywhere."  
  
Turning back to her, he took her small, soft hands in his large callused ones, "We've lost half of our family. There's no way of knowing what could happen tomorrow. We can't waste the time we have together."  
  
She laughed nervously, "What, you want to spend more time with Challenger, listening to his lectures on this bug or that experiment?"  
  
"Marguerite, we have to stop denying our feelings for each other."  
  
She tried to pull her hands away, but he held tight. "I am not denying anything," she insisted.  
  
He pulled her closer. "Then you admit that you love me?"  
  
She froze. She'd only recently admitted those feeling to herself. Was she ready to admit them to Roxton? Searching his eyes, she was chagrined to see them sparkling, showing that he already knew everything. "You are awfully sure of yourself," she chided.  
  
His arms slid around her waist as he asked, "any reason why I shouldn't be?"  
  
She took a deep breath, but still her voice broke when she answered simply and quietly, "no."  
  
He kissed the top of her head, and said, "I want to spend every moment with you."  
  
The heiress pushed away slightly as she scoffed, "that could be another sixty years."  
  
"Let's hope so," he held her tighter, "and I want to spend every day of those sixty years with you."  
  
"And when we leave the plateau?"  
  
"I intend to take you home as my wife. If you'll have me," he leaned in to kiss her, but she turned away resulting in his lips merely brushing her ear.  
  
"Wife?" Marguerite went rigid. She had expected a proposition, not a proposal.  
  
Roxton nuzzled her soft white neck saying, "yes, wife."  
  
"You are asking me to . . . . "  
  
"Marry me," he finished her sentence.  
  
She looked at him, stunned, then began to back away, laughing nervously. "For a second there, I thought you were serious."  
  
"I am," he insisted, "very serious."  
  
The hurt look on his face tore at her heart. "John," she reasoned, "there is so much you don't know."  
  
"I know all I need to know." He tried to draw her back into his arms, but she took another step backward.  
  
"You don't understand. I've done things. . . . .things you need to know. Things which could change your mind."  
  
"It won't happen," he assured her. "The past is past. Nothing from before we met matters. Just say you'll marry me and we start from scratch. If there are problems, we will face them together."  
  
She lowered her eyes, focusing on the top button of his blue shirt. She couldn't meet his trusting gaze and tell him what she had to. "There is something you have to know."  
  
"No," he interrupted, "there's nothing. . . "  
  
Her grey eyes met his once more. She placed her fingers across his lips stopping his protest. "After I've finished, ask me again," she paused, then added, "if you still want to."  
  
Marguerite turned to look at the jungle, but could only see the fading of her hard won happiness. "I have a lot of enemies, powerful enemies."  
  
"Marguerite, we all have enemies."  
  
"Like Kaiser Wilhelm?"  
  
Roxton went silent, prepared, now, to listen.  
  
"I won't bother you now with Shanghai, and all that led up to this, but during the war, I lived in Germany. I was a double agent; for England. I quickly learned that friends, all emotional ties were to be avoided, shunned. On several occasions, hundreds had to be sacrificed so that thousands might live. That would be harder if someone you cared about was involved. Because of information I fed Germany, which allowed them small victories, I was taken further and further into their confidence. Near the end of the war, I learned of a large gold shipment. The gold was to pay for troops and supplies which could have prolonged to war for another year or more. The entire shipment disappeared. The gold was finally tracked down. When it was discovered that I had appropriated it, they realised that I had actually been working for Britain, and I became Germany's number one enemy. Wanted dead or alive, preferably dead. That night in London, the night of Challenger's lecture, I wasn't actually heading to the Zoological Society's meeting, but it seemed perfect. I needed to be rid of that gold, and our government, my former superiors, claimed that they were not in a position to help me. I thought if I financed Challenger's expedition, that not only would there be nothing to tie me to the shipment, but I might even get a return. Besides, once the money was in the form of a bond with Challenger's name on it, Germany couldn't touch it whatever happened to me."  
  
Marguerite took another deep breath, delaying the worst part of her story. "I was late for the meeting at Challenger's because I wasn't quite as clever as I'd thought. I was captured and," she shuddered inwardly at the memory, but glossed over it, " interrogated. "In the end, I told them about the expedition. They were quite intrigued. There had been rumours about the lost world and it's geological riches. It was agreed that if I went on the expedition and found useable information guaranteeing the promise of wealth, they would let me live. I agreed."  
  
Finally, Roxton spoke, "and you weren't worried about the consequences of such information falling into German hands?"  
  
"I figured that I would worry about it when the time came." Her voice grew quieter as she continued, "there was one other thing. They wanted assurances that no one else would have the information and be able to beat them to their riches. I was to be the only member of the expedition to return." She stopped and let Roxton digest the implication.  
  
"What, you were going to kill us?" The hunter was astounded. "you bartered the lives of four strangers to save yourself? You would have killed Challenger, Malone and Summerlee? You would have murdered me?"  
  
She had no answer for his blunt questions. Through tear filled eyes, she studied the grain of the balcony railing, and remained silent as she waited for John's response.  
  
Roxton just stared at the unruly black hair cascading down his beloved's back. He was tempted to reach out and caress the soft tresses, but outrage stayed his hand. He loved this woman, regardless of what she'd done, he loved her, and that disgusted him. To keep from reaching out to her, he turned on his heel and walked determinedly away.  
  
*****  
  
Marguerite's head throbbed. It felt like the worst hangover ever, and she hadn't even had the enjoyment of the night before. She walked into the common room still fastening the last button on her lavender blouse. She squinted and groaned at the too bright sun.  
  
Coffee. She desperately wanted coffee.  
  
"Good morning, Marguerite," George Challenger said as she passed the table on her way to the stove. The table's only other occupant didn't even look her way. There was no coffee made, so she started a pot and plopped down in the furthest chair from Roxton while she waited for it to brew.  
  
"Have some breakfast," the professor offered.  
  
"She can have mine," Roxton said bitterly and he pushed his plate away. "I've lost my appetite."  
  
Marguerite gave a sour look at the food, "I just want coffee." She rose and walked away from the table. "I'll wait for it on the balcony."  
  
*****  
  
The next three days were miserable for the treehouse inhabitants. Roxton and Marguerite took great pains to avoid each other, but in their small living quarters, it was impossible.  
  
Challenger was just placing dinner on the table when Marguerite entered the room. The seated hunter dropped his fork, scooted back, and rose from the table saying, "Well, I'm done."  
  
She waved him off tiredly, "I'm just going out to get some air," She glanced at the food and shook her head, "I'm not hungry,"  
  
"Marguerite," Challenger urged, "you really should have something to eat."  
  
"Save your breath, George," Roxton broke in venomously, "Our Marguerite likes to make her own kills. Be careful, she may have designs on your arm."  
  
The heiress flashed a hurt and angry look his way, "I was thinking more of fried heart. But don't worry, yours is safe; as hard as it is, I'd break my teeth on it."  
  
"At least I have one."  
  
Before she could voice her retort, Challenger cried out, "Enough!!"  
  
The two combatants turned their gazes to the professor.  
  
"I have put up with all I'm going to. You have turned our home into a war zone. Now I don't know what happened between you two, and I don't want to know. I just want it taken care of . By tomorrow morning, you will have made up, or at least made peace. If not, I will tie you together until you do." The older, red-haired man felt a bit embarrassed at treating his friends like misbehaving six year olds, but nothing else had worked. Leaving his meal untouched, he left the room and headed to the sanctuary of his lab.  
  
Marguerite watched Challenger's retreating back and remained silent. She waited for Roxton to say something, anything, but his silence spoke louder than any words he might have used. There was nothing to say. It was over. Without a glance at her beloved hunter, she left for her bedroom. Once there, she crawled into her bed without bothering to undress, or even remove her boots. She curled into a ball, and cried herself to sleep.  
  
*****  
  
Lord Roxton hadn't moved. Basically, Challenger had called him a naughty boy, and that is just exactly how he felt. The worst of it was that he had no excuses. Marguerite had trusted him with a very painful secret, and he'd let her down.  
  
The woman who had left London with them, the one who had made the awful bargain of their lives for hers, no longer existed. She'd been through a complete metamorphosis. Yet he was punishing her and himself for something that had happened a lifetime ago. The worst of it was that he'd treated her so badly because he hadn't been outraged. He tried to push her away, because all he wanted was to have and hold her. He was ashamed that he wanted her even though she might have killed them all in their sleep.  
  
But he didn't just want her, he loved her. He'd always loved her. Looking back, he couldn't place where he had first begun to love her. It was as if he had been born loving her and just had to wait for that love to be discovered. He berated himself for his stupidity of the past few days, and headed to Marguerite's room. He only hoped that she could forgive him.  
  
Without asking, afraid that she might turn him away, he pushed aside the curtain and entered the heiress' room. He spotted her curled up beneath her blankets. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he reached over and brushed the raven curls from her face. Dried tears glistening on her cheeks wrenched his heart. He wanted desperately to wake her, hold her, beg her to forgive him, but she had been sleeping so poorly since their fight, that he decided it would be best to let her rest. They would talk in the morning. Still, he sat for a long while, drinking in her beauty, before he finally arose and went to his own bed.  
  
*****  
  
Marguerite had made her decision. Challenger was right. Things couldn't go on as they were. It had been a hard decision, but she knew it was right. There was no reason to wait for morning. She pulled her robe tight, and padded bare foot from her room.  
  
Peeking into Roxton's room, she smiled to hear his peaceful, even snoring. Quietly, she entered the room. With a rustle of fabric, her robe hit the floor. The moonlight gave her slender, naked body a luminous glow. She slid under his covers and snuggled up against him. His arm immediately went around her. "Marguerite," he murmured. Her eyes sought his instantly, but he was still asleep. She relaxed and leaned back against his bare chest. His other arm snaked under her to hold her more tightly.  
  
It felt so good, so right laying with him that she wished the night would go on forever. She raised her head again. His lips were only inches from hers. She lightly touched hers to them. His were slightly parted, and she couldn't resist darting her tongue in to tickle the roof of his mouth. His mouth began to move against hers and his tongue soon joined the dance.  
  
Her fingers traced abstract symbols of love across his back, while her hips pressed and rubbed relentlessly against his. He was clothed from the waist down, but the response of his body was immediate as witnessed by the insistent throbbing against her stomach.  
  
His mouth left hers and travelled down her chin, down the inviting softness of her neck, and further. She gasped when his mouth captured her breast; biting and teasing. Kisses led him to her other breast where he applied the same exquisite torture. His hand roamed down between her legs and she wiggled against it, "John, please," she begged breathily.  
  
The sole article of clothing separating them was whisked away. His mouth again covered hers, and when he entered her, her exclamation was lost somewhere deep inside of him.  
  
She wrapped her legs around him. Their bodies fit flawlessly together, moving in perfect attunement.  
  
When at last they collapsed, both completely satisfied, Marguerite wondered if possibly she'd been wrong. Maybe there was hope. But remembering the venom, the pure hatred of his words in the past days dashed those hopes. As she extracted herself from his embrace, he began to stir. She leaned close and whispered, "hush, my love, it's just a dream." He smiled in his sleep and turned over. She grabbed her robe from the floor, and throwing it around her spent body, ran to her own room.  
  
*****  
  
Marguerite finished dressing and took one last look around her room. There was nothing left to do. No reason to further procrastinate. She took the note she'd written earlier and went up to the common room. There were so many memories here. She could see John Roxton in every square inch: sitting at the table cleaning his guns; standing at the stove brewing coffee just for her; stepping out of the elevator with his arms full of firewood; out on the balcony professing his love for her, asking her to marry him. . . . She shook her head. There would be plenty of time to get maudlin later. She went to reach for her gun belt, but changed her mind, and ducked into the elevator. It began it's slow descent, taking her away from the only real home she'd ever known, the only family she'd ever had, and the only man she had ever, would ever truly love.  
  
end 


End file.
